Cold Life
by Meekaminniee
Summary: It was well known that Hemione Granger would risk life and limb for her friends. But when Voldemort returns with new plans of immortality, she has no choice but to abandon every comfort and sacrifice her grades and possible sanity to work with Hogwarts' personal jerk in order to save the ones she loves. AU, Dramione.
1. Prologue

It was only when Draco walked down the empty hallway of the Malfoy Mansion that he realized his shoes were ridiculously loud. Each smack against the hardwood flooring echoed down the passageway with a decidedly solid _thunk. _ The beady eyes of platinum haired ancestors followed his every step, sniffing disapprovingly from their framed prisons. Draco's lip curled as he continued walking, making sure each step reverberated off the richly decorated halls. The snobby paintings were never kind to him, and anyways, wasn't he allowed his petty joys?

"Master mustn't make so much noise." a quiet voice behind him remarked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "And house elves shouldn't talk to their masters like that. It's practically against the law for a lowly creature like you to be basking in my shadows." He leered at his servant, hoping that it would just shut up and walk in silence. Merlin only knew how much trouble he had working with this particularly obnoxious one.

The scrawny house elf rushed to catch up to him, stumbling over big feet and skinny limbs. "Draco Malfoy must _not _talk to Dobby like that! Dobby is not a house elf! Dobby is a free el-"

"Oh, shut up Dobby." Draco snarled, exasperated. "If I hear your little freedom speech about stupid sniveling Potter one more time, I swear you'll never see daylight again."

Dobby grabbed Malfoy's trouser leg and waved it around indignantly. "Draco Malfoy must not insult Harry Potter! Harry Potter is a good wizard!"

"Dobby, just get off me!" Draco shook his leg, dislodging the small elf into a bundle of skin, bones, and abnormally large eyes. Draco snorted and turned away. Working with Dobby was like working with a hyperactive toddler. But he had to; he and Dobby were the only cracks in Voldemorts faith system and they had to stick together. Although the job never required them to like each other. "And your name is _Gumby_, not Dobby."

"Master Malfoy needn't be so mean to Do-… Gumby." The house elf had gathered himself up, glaring at Draco. The Malfoy ignored the pitifully wavering glower, continuing to strut down the hall.

The sun was beginning to wane, its dying light leaking into every crack in the curtains and dripping onto the floor in luminous stripes. Back in Hogwarts, students would be just starting to return to their commonrooms to get ready for supper. Why he was here in the first place? His father had called for him, which was essentially unheard of. In fact, Draco barely had enough time to finish his Potions Essay before Lucius' mental commands became too strong to overcome, and too annoying to ignore.

This possibly meant Draco had done something bad enough to warrant the attention of Lucius, the Dark Lord, or both; either way none of the options were any good. He could only hope whatever Lucius wanted would be quick and to the point, so he could get back to Hogwarts and possibly not miss a sumptuous feast that awaited him.

He played with a chain around his neck, from which a heavy ring dangled against his chest. As long as its intricately molded platinum touched his skin, Lucius was able to call Draco at a whim like a puppy. Draco scrunched his nose in disgust, fishing the ring out from under his collar and letting it bounce over his cloak. Lucius wouldn't be able to whisper in his mind now; it was the only small victory he got from wearing that.

Draco stopped at the end of the hall, straightening his shoulders and taking a deep breath. Facing Lucius was never easy; he was demanding, hard, foreign and constantly disappointed. And although Draco no longer _cared_ about what his father thought, the Dark Lord would always watching them and Draco needed to put on a mask of respect and utter loyalty. Oh, yes. The Dark Lord certainly did not like young troublemakers and rebels like Draco.

"Gumby," Draco said. "Stay here and wait for me."

Dobby meekly bowed and slunk to the shadows, although his gleaming eyes still glared defiantly.

Draco pushed the door wide open, striding in confidently, but with a slight drag, as if he had _much_ more important places to be. He had perfected this walk years ago, along with a Malfoy-quality smirk that adorned his face at that moment. The heavy door slammed shut behind him.

"Father," Draco said, taking a seat on a plum-colored couch that faced a fire. "You called?" He leaned back casually, taking up as much space as possible, if not just to annoy his father.

Lucius stood with his back to his son staring outside a silver lined window, his posture erect and his hands clasping themselves tightly at the small of his back. In the setting sun, Draco imagined he looked quite intimidating to muggles and mudboods alike. Lucius Malfoy was the spitting image of what the Malfoys were supposed to be like; Draco almost grinned when he wondered what his father's reaction would be to his own son being a blood traitor. Disown him? Beat him? Throw him out naked to the mass of people in the I-Hate-Draco-Malfoy club? Kill him? He wouldn't put him above that.

Lucius made a minute gesture directed at a shadowy form standing silently in a corner.

"Narcissa. Leave."

Draco clenched his fists as he watched his mother walk out dutifully, a purple-blue bruise forming on her temple. He willed his face to go completely blank, betraying no emotion but two shaking fists and slightly tensed shoulders. He would have to deal with that later.

Father and son sat in an apprehensive silence for several minutes; Draco's eyes boring into Lucius' back. He remembered the first days Narcissa would leave with fresh bruises, scrapes on her hands and a tearful face. It had started when Voldemort was beginning to rise, and Lucius had needed an 'outlet' for all the pent up stress. Now, she left slow and dignified, like a weary old woman. Draco often wondered why she wouldn't just leave the bastard. But then the small fact that Voldemort would ultimately destroy them if they had a toe out of line constantly floated in his consciousness. He knew that.

"I have a message from the Dark Lord." Lucius said quietly, bringing Draco to reality and making him strain to hear the words over the ticking clock and spitting flames. "For Hogwarts."

Draco narrowed his eyes, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. "And?"

Lucius turned, staring unperturbed at Draco and his moodiness. "And he expects you to deliver something for him."

"A package?" Draco guessed, straightening his posture when his father began a deliberate walk towards him.

"Not quite." Lucius stopped in front of his son, reaching for his face.

Draco stiffened and turned his head, avoiding the touch. But Lucius only picked up the ring that still hung outside his shirt; the tiny chain coiling like miniature silver serpents as it pooled on the older Malfoy's hand.

"Think of it more like a letter." Lucius tucked the ring back under Draco's collar, so it nestled cold against bare skin. "Voldemort sending his regards to Dumbledore."

A jolt ran through Draco as his father reached him mentally; like an electric current.

Lucius smiled slowly as Dracos eyes widened.

"O-of course." Draco stood up, feeling a slight butterfly of apprehension. He made his steps intentionally slow and unhurried, waiting until he reached the door before trusting himself to turn around and nod a quick goodbye. "Father."

Lucius nodded back.

As soon as the door clicked shut Draco tensed like a spring; sprinting down the hallway when he realized Dobby had disappeared off somewhere else.

"Gumby! Where the bloody hell are you? We need to get to Hogwarts."

Dobby materialized in front of Draco, his mouth full of treacle tart and his hands sticky with the same. "Dobby- er, Gumby was just getting a snack Master Malfoy. Gumby is sorry if he has made Master late."

Draco peeked impatiently out the window. The sky had fallen dark, the stars already twinkling in their places. There wasn't much time, if there was any left at all.

His heart seemed to be hammering in his throat. He managed to choke out; "Dob-Gumby, listen to me. Apparate me _directly_ to Dumbledore's office."

"But-"

"Dobby! Something is happening _right now_, and if you don't stop your blathering idiocy, Harry Potter may be as good as dead."

Immediately, Dobby clutched onto Draco's leg; stirring Draco's reality into a soup of muddled visions as they travelled a vast expanse. In the pounding realm of his own mind, Draco replayed the essence of his fathers' message again and again.

_Tonight, someone will die._


	2. Chapter 1

**So, finally got motivation enough to write my first fanfic! Woo! Please be gentle.**

**Reviews would really make my day :) (and night) So please review!**

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It was Ron who left first, slamming the door with a thud that faded into a thick suffocating silence. Hermione sat, perched at the edge of her bed with furious splotches of red matching the Gryffindor drapery, coloring her face.

The nerve of him! That bloody bastard, a complete insensitive git! She got up to pace, glaring at a furry lump she called Crookshanks who glared right back. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. Today she was supposed to be having a wonderful time; just her spending some good old quality time with her boyfriend after a day of some delightfully challenging courses, and a nice late-night read into her Herbology textbook to finish off. Plus the fact it was a Monday would have made it a truly perfect day.

Hermione sat down again, unsure exactly what to do with herself. This in itself was an odd feeling; usually she knew exactly what she wanted, how she would get them and what had to be done. But what would she do about Ron? Wasn't _he _being the illogical one? _He _after all, came to her room wanting to 'talk'. And talk they did; Hermione cringed inwardly at some of the things she had not meant to say. But anyways, Ron should be the one to apologize first.

"Stupid Weasley." she muttered. She hated feeling muddled and unsure, and it was his entire fault. She was Hermione Granger for the love of Merlin! This had been the first time that a fight between had gotton this serious. Ever since they started dating in the beginning of the school year three months ago, they had had little tiffs. Just minor squabbles. Petty spats. But all of it had been leading to this big finale; a final crescendo.

She flopped heavily onto her back, her mass of curls strewn untidily, cushioning her head. The brunette recalled the timid knock at her door; something Ron never did. He would usually knock once, and barge into the room like an unruly chaotic tornado.

"Hermione?" he had said.

She had turned around and smiled at him, waving a hand holding a quill to indicate invitation. "Ron! Could you hold on a moment, I'm almost done my essay."

"For Charms?" Ron wrinkled his nose distastefully, walking in and slouching against her desk.

"Mm hm." Hermione scribbled with newfound haste.

"Isn't that due sometime, uh, next week?"

Hermione dotted her last period with a sharp flick. "Actually, it's due Friday this week. So I suggest, _Ronald,_ that we go to Hagrids quickly so I can help you on that tonight." Hermione put her quill back and stood up to get her cloak, which was folded neatly on her bed.

"Actually, Hermione, I was wanting to talk." Ron clasped his hands together.

She turned to him and frowned. Was that a wavering note of nervousness she heard? "Is something the matter?" Hermione thought about the many times she had told Ron off for not doing his homework or focusing on his lessons. Maybe she had been a bit on his case lately "I'm sorry if I nag a bit much Ron, I just want you to-"

"Oh, no no no. Not at all!" Ron hurriedly reassured her. "It's something more about, well…"

"Oh, come on Ron. What is it?"

"Tobias Brinely." Ron blurted, hands clenching at his sides.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Tobias was a sixth year Gryffindor like them, a new transfer from Durmstrang and a quiet, friendly fellow whom Ron mercilessly picked on.

"What about Brinely?"

Ron flinched, knowing exactly what she was thinking. "I know you think he's a good bloke and all-"

"He actually _is _a good bloke." she interrupted. Crookshanks slunk over to her side and she picked it up, holding it like a barrier between them. "If you'd stopped glaring at him for a minute you might actually be friends."

This time Ron frowned. "Look, 'Mione, I know you've got a bit of a soft spot. But I don't like it when you spend so much time with him."

"What do you mean? I spend as much time with him as I do with you!"

"_Exactly_. Don't you see? I'm your boyfriend, but you still spend a lot of time with him."

Hermione widened her eyes. Who was he to tell her how to spend her free time, and how to choose her friends? "Don't be ridiculous. I don't see you glaring at Harry when we're together."

"That's because I know him! Besides he's got," Ron made a strangled noise. "Ginny."

Hermione pounced at the slight change of topic. "So this is about Harry and Ginny? I'm not changing my mind, I think they look adorable together. You're being a complete dick about it."

"I never said that."

"It was implied."

"Stop trying to change the subject." Ron's patience snapped.

Hermione glared at him, stroking her cat with a vengeance. "It's completely unreasonable to get into a fight over petty jealousy."

Ron shook his head at her. "I'm not jealous, I'm just worried."

The brunette snorted. "Well why don't you go worry about something else? There's nothing going on between me and Tobias."

A short awkward silence ensued until Hermione couldn't resist blurting out her own insecurities.

"Why don't you go worry over Celia Greene?"

A light blush settled on Ron's cheeks, confirming her thoughts. "We're just friends!" he said.

She dug her nails into Crookshanks who yowled and jumped away, indignantly. Celia Greene was a 7th year Ravenclaw; someone Ron hadn't even known existed until she made the Quidditch team as a Keeper.

"Is that right?" Hermione heard her voice getting shriller and louder. "Well, by the way you look at her arse-"

"I don't look at anyone like that!" Ron's panicked voice began to rise as well.

"-and the way you're always looking for her in a crowd-"

"That's just nonsense."

"-honestly, I thought you would be better than that-"

"What do you mean 'better'?"

"-fawning over the same girl every boy in Ravenclaw had eyes for."

"I can't help it! She's basically Veela." This was true, as Celia's father was half Veela and her mother was a full Veela.

They were both shouting now, and she wondered if there was anyone in the Common room who could hear them.

Ron took a deep breath and strained to control his voice. His face was splotched with anger, contrasting pale skin with red patches. "I'm trying to talk to you reasonably. You're making this very hard."

By now, Hermione felt beyond reason. She felt hurt by his distrust, shock with his confession that he was _indeed_ attracted to someone else (albeit only because of the fact she was a Veela), and angry that he was allowed to be jealous and spiteful while she had had to pretend there was nothing wrong.

"There's nothing to talk about, Weasley." she growled. "After all, since we sorted out that we have no feelings for anyone else, there shouldn't be a problem."

"You're impossible."

"You're a twat."

"You're being a bitch."

"And you're a complete dickhead."

They were now eye to eye; noses almost touching. She gazed at his blue eyes, once open and endless like the ocean, now hardened into pinpricks of ice.

"I'm going to leave before I say something I'll regret." Ron had snarled and jerked his head away.

"Too late for that, don't you think?" she had said.

Ron had spun on his heel and walked away, slamming the door shut.

Now Hermione stared listlessly at the ceiling. She shouldn't have called him a dickhead. Or have blown up about Celia Greene like that. After all, he was just as worried about losing her to Tobias as she was about losing him to Celia; it was just trivial relationship muck they had to wade through together.

Hermione scooted to the window and wiped away the foggy condensation, searching the cold snowy school grounds for a spot of color. He would have gone to Hagrids, supposedly. After all, it was his plan to go today, and he asked Hermione to come along and make it a 'date'. Hermione decided she would go look for him after he came back, and hopefully they could sort it out like adults. Ron had just caught her at a bad time, she thought.

Her eyes darted to two spots of bright hair in the snow, like two drops of blood on a crisp linen sheet battling the eerie wind that howled at the sunset.

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**Its a bit fluffy, but the next chapter will have a 3-wizard duel ;)**


	3. Chapter 2

**Another Chapter in just one day! I will probably begin updating every Monday from now on, just had Chapter 2 out and ready to go.**

**Anyways Please Review!**

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"Trouble in paradise?"

Ron looked up, wincing as the wind hit him in the face with pinpricks of ice. "Wha-?"

Ginny fished out a rumpled fuchsia cap from her pockets, jamming the knitted abomination on her head. There really was no doubt that it was from Mrs. Weasley. Ron cursed himself for not bringing a hat; knitted abomination or not. His ears felt like they were about to fall off.

"What's going on between you and Granger?"

Ron lowered his head glumly, "You heard?"

Ginny linked her arm through his and shivered. "Of course I did. It's lucky no one was in the common room except me, you were so loud. What did you say to her anyways? I've never heard Hermione raise her voice at you like that."

"It's nothing." He tried to focus on the crunching of snow beneath his boots, and drown out his thoughts. Since when had he needed comfort from Ginny? She was his little sister! Little sisters were supposed to come to their older brothers for help; that was the natural order of things not the other way around. Maybe he was screwing up with being an older brother as well. Although if Harry ever did break Ginny's heart, he would probably tear his best friend to shreds, no questions asked.

"It's definitely not _nothing._" Ginny said, nudging his rib with a pointy elbow. "So spill."

"Blimey, you can stab someone with those elbows."

"And I'm not exactly afraid to do that to you if you don't say. I'm your sister! You can tell me anything, I promise it'll a secret between us."

"Ginny, you're my _little_ sister-,"

"And I also happen to be a _girl_. I know how girls think, and I think you need a bit of help with a certain girl right now."

Ron rolled his eyes. He didn't remember her being this insufferable before; maybe Harry was being a bit too nice after all.

"I wanted to talk to her about Brinely."

Ginny pursed her lips, trying to remember who he was. Ron was surprised Ginny hadn't heard of him by now; Hermione often talked about him.

"Oh! Is it that Tobias fellow she's always chatting to?"

"Yeah." Ron kicked at the snow, not very effectively, because the wind just seemed to blow it back. "That's it though, isn't it? She's always talking to him, when she could be talking to me."

It was Ginny's turn to roll her eyes. "Ron, just because you aren't Hermione's one exclusive friend and confidant doesn't mean she doesn't like you."

"I know. It's just," he licked his frozen lips. "I don't like it. And whenever I bring him up, she's always on guard like I'm about to insult him or something."

"Well, that's what you do whenever you're in the same room as him." she pointed out.

"Merlins beard! I don't need more of this." Hermione had certainly already crushed his good moods today. "Besides she's been like that about Celia Greene and me too." He thought about Celia Greene, frowning when he remembered how she'd cornered him last week and given him a peck on the cheek under the mistletoe. He'd been terrified of Hermione finding out about that one.

Ginny didn't say anything for a while. Ron was glad for the silence; it gave him time to compose himself and begin to think about what they were to do at Hagrids'. He and Hermione had planned to go down there to make something… illegal. Okay, so it was highly illegal, but it would hypothetically be very helpful to Harry's situation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was sort of supposed to be a Christmas present from both of them. Now that Hermione had bailed, Ginny had been the only witch he could trust that was also more intellectual than the average to bring with him. After all, if he had done the spell casting himself, he would have possibly ended up poisoning Harry, or blown himself up. Now if he could just convince Hagrid to be on board with this plan, it would go a bit more smoothly.

"Do you?" Ginny asked.

"What?" Ron was pulled reluctantly back to the conversation by an eager Ginny.

"Like Greene? Do you like her?"

"No!" Ron shook his head, almost tripping over his own boots. "Of course not!"

"Then what makes Hermione say that you do?" Ginny had let go of his arm and was in the process of dragging out a pair of sensible black mittens. Ron rubbed his hands together, wondering why he hadn't thought of bringing gloves. Yes, gloves would be nice right now. Ginny poked his shoulder, and he brushed her off, annoyed.

"I don't know. Ever since the beginning of the year, whenever she's in the room I can feel her…presence. Like, when she's not there, I feel normal. But if she's in the same room, I get this nauseous feeling in my stomach." Ron scratched his head. "I'm going insane, aren't I?"

Ginny looked thoughtful. "Well, she is three-quarters Veela if you think about it, you know? Her dad's half Veela, and her-"

"-mothers full Veela, yes I know. But I don't get why I never noticed her before. All the Ravenclaw blokes are nuts over her. She wasn't a new transfer, was she?"

Ginny contemplated while Ron looked around. The sky had gone a terrible shade of green-grey, as if the clouds had grown moldy. His ears pricked up at a tiny sound.

"Nope. Actually, what I think is…"

Ron grabbed Ginnys arm, shaking her slightly and making a small shushing noise. Ginny quieted immediately, looking around cautiously. He had heard a small _crunch_; a crushing of leaves underfoot. Even though this was Hogwarts, it wasn't safe to assume they weren't under attack by Deatheaters_._ Ron looked around; they were almost to Hagrids, walking by the edge of the Forbidden Forest where the leaves lay thick, like a carpet dusted in light powder.

_Crunch._

Ginny's eyes widened as she scanned the edges of the foreboding trees, her hand slowly moving to her pocket for her wand. Rons own hand already held his wand; a new one that he had put a years' worth of allowance in. His arm hovered protectively in front of Ginny.

"Show yourself!" Ron called. He winced inwardly as it sounded more like a strangled plea.

"Is it a Deatheater?" Ginny whispered.

"I don't know. Get your wand out, we might have to use it." Ron took a deep breath. He was never particularly good at spells. Or anything to do with magic in general, but he had to try for Ginny. A tingle began to spread through him, as anxiety tore at his gut.

A flash of green exploded into the snow beside him, causing Ginny to shriek and fall.

"Expelliaramus!" Ron hurled his own magic back at the source of the attack. A cloaked figure darted out in front of them, easily deflecting the spell with a shield charm.

"Ginny! Get up and run for Hagrids!" Ron sidestepped another flash of light, conjuring up another shield to protect him from the onslaught. "Go! I'll cover."

Ginny shook her head, white with fear and stood up, fumbling for her wand. The cloaked figure came closer. He was now no further than ten feet away, still conjuring spells at a rapid pace, making Ron concentrate harder than he ever had to. His first one-on-one duel with a death-eater, and the stakes were high. It was clear that it meant to kill them; green flashes barely missed the both as they worked on and off from defensive to offensive.

"Ginny, I said go!" Ron was yelling now. "Protego! Petrificus totalus!"

"But," Ginny flourished her wand. "Stupefy! Ron, you'll be killed."

"Not if you get Hagrid."

The two siblings were backing up quickly, and rather ungracefully because of the snow and their clunky boots. Ron slipped and fell, hair slightly singed after just missing the full force of a tongue of fire and he struggled back up to his feet. "Locomotor Mortis!"

Ginny gave Ron a look. They were both wearing out already, while the cloaked figure she presumed to be a Deatheater seemed to never tire. Hagrid with his pink umbrella could tip the scales in the right direction. But what kind of sister was she to leave her brother like that?

"Ron! You should go get Hagrid, I'm better at the fighting." Ginny half-whispered, knowing it was a poor choice of words that would flatten Rons' ego, but now wasn't the time to care.

"No, he's more interested in killing me," Ron lowered his voice too. "This means he won't go after you when you go for Hagrid."

It was true. All around Ron were remnants of lethal spells; _Avada Kedavra_ was always detonating the snow around him, while Ginny only had to sidestep a _Stupefy,_ or an _Expelliaramus._

"Are you sure you can handle this alone?" Ginny launched a quick bat-bogey hex at the deatheater. She was quite fond of those. "We could barely keep it up as it is."

"Then hurry up, Ginny! Get out of here and run." Ron quickly deflected a spell hurtling towards his sister.

Her mouth opened, as if she was about to say something. Abruptly, it snapped shut and, casting one last protecting charm before turning her back, she stumbled as fast as she could through the thick snow.

Ron's tense shoulders slumped with relief, the thought of at least his sister surviving lifting an enormous weight off his chest. Focus Ron, he told himself, she's not safe until she's with Hagrid.

Something punched him in the front, and ripped his wand away rendering Ron completely defenseless. He groaned as he realized the Deatheater managed to sneak in an _Expelliaramus _charm under his guard. He rolled away from another blast that covered him in white crystals, glancing over at Ginny struggling in the wind and snow.

"Ginny!" he yelled, standing up and noticing the cloaked figure pointing their wand towards her. "Ginny!" Ron looked frantically around for his wand, buried somewhere in the snow.

The Deatheater finally opened their mouth; a familiar feminine voice ringing clear and loud across the field. A voice Ron knew too well.

"Frigidissimis Vita!" Bellatrix Lestrange pushed off her hood, grinning gleefully at the shock on his face.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. It was silent except for the knocking of his heartbeats and the wind screaming in his face. Then a burst of light exploded from her wand, dazzling and magnificent. Ron tore his eyes away and locked his gaze onto his little sister.

Without another thought, Ron launched himself into the air in front of Bellatrix LeStrange, taking the full power of the unfamiliar spell. Immediately, he felt his insides turn into icy shards. Unbearable pain split his sides, puncturing every organ and tearing his nerves in half. Time slowed down, dragging out excruciatingly long. He felt searing heat and sharp a piercing coldness all at once, turning blood to liquid fire and freezing the pain in place. The agony was too much, and against every manly instinct, a scream built in Ron's throat.

But he couldn't. His eyes flew open in shock when his jaw froze into place, a frost spreading up his body creeping like a thin layer that was unavoidable, inevitable. The last thing he saw before the white chill blinded him in a light that burned like the sun, was Ginny's disheveled flame-red hair and a grinning black skull floating like a wisp against the murky storm above.

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Ginny sunk her boot into another snowdrift, coming up just below the knee. It held onto her foot, cold and hard, and she cursed, straining against the weight of panic and terror. Was it just her? Or was the snow getting thicker? Where there had once been ankle-deep snow now lay a heavy layer of knee-deep crystals. Ginny almost laughed then. Of all the things that could get Ron and her killed, it was snow.

"Ginny!" Rons strangled voice came from behind.

Ginny whipped her head around to look at Ron, who lay disarmed in a heap on the ground. She could see his wand poking out of a mound, impossibly far away to reach. Ginny's body reacted more quickly than her numb mind; her hand already reaching to her pockets. She fumbled with her wand, awkwardly twisting, looking for the Deatheater who would finish off Ron.

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Ginny bit her lip and swore, as her wand slipped out of her covered hands. Maybe it wouldn't be the snow that killed her; it would be her stupid mittens that seemed to repel the wand. Tearing off her right mitten, she scraped at the ground desperately, finally grabbing a hold of it.

"Ginny!" This time Ron was standing, looking desperately between her and the Deatheater. Ginny looked up to see the figure pointing their wand directly at her, tilting their head ever so slightly that Ginny could see who was under the hood. Her mouth fell open, and a cold deadness washed through her. It was Bellatrix LeStrange, in the flesh. Ginny's mind whirled. Bellatrix was an adamant follower of You-Know-Who; that was a common fact. What didn't make sense was why he would send someone as powerful as her to meddle with schoolchildren.

Bellatrix's cold, silky voice sliced through her thoughts. "Frigidissimis Vita!" A purple-blue ball of energy swirled at the tip of her wand, light bursting forth and illuminating the snow in a beautiful kaleidoscope of dark hues.

Ginny would have thought to duck if she weren't so shocked. Instead all that went through her head was that she was going to die, and so was Ron. All because of her mittens.

Then the redhead narrowed her eyes. Pure hatred burned in her blood at murderess of so many witches, so many wizards, so many muggles, so many children. And Harry's godfather Sirius Black. If she was going to die at the hands of a filthy slag like her, she would go out with a bang. She didn't even have to think of which spell Bellatrix deserved before it came bursting out of her mouth.

"Avada Kedavra!" Ginny yelled, aiming for Bellatrix's heart. She felt her hatred channeled to the tip of her wand, and for a moment, all was peaceful. For that moment, there was no emotion. Nothing of fear, worry, sadness; nothing but the feeling of emptiness. She watched as her green light sailed, rushing towards the purple, like primed animals ready to explode into action.

Suddenly, all she could see was Ron. Ginny's eyes widened in horror as he took the full force of Bellatrix's spell, freezing into place midway through the air and landing heavily in tangle of limbs. Ginny's spell was easily deflected with a flick of the Deatheaters wand, and Bellatrix cackled at her, taking a deep bow.

"Ron?" she whispered. Ginny watched as a blanket of ice began to engulf her brother. His own blue eyes locked onto hers, a burning pain and rage trapped inside that was so powerful Ginny wondered why it didn't melt the frost away. "Ron!" she didn't sound like herself anymore, she sounded like a small child who had gotten lost. She watched as the white frost consumed the burning passion, leaving behind eyes milky white and blind to the world.

"Avada Kedavra!" Ginny was screaming now, as she ran blindly towards Bellatrix, tears blurring her vision. "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" She was aware that the spell no longer worked, but all she felt was despair and loss; there wasn't enough hatred to channel into the curse.

"Oooh! Little girl! I gotcha didn't I?" Bellatrix raised her wand. Ginny no longer cared what happened, all she wanted was to get to Rons side and find him alive.

"Got him like I got Sirius Black!" A malicious cackle splintered the air as Bellatrix raised her wand and yelled, "Morsmordre!"; disapparating in a puff of black, and leaving behind a hazy black skull floating over what was supposed to be the last sanctuary from the Lord Voldemort himself.

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**MFINGA25: Why of course! A Dramione wouldn't be complete without one half of it.**

**silverphoenix2715: Thanks :D There will be plenty of rainbows. ;)**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's. Not mine (and never will be).**

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By the end of the dinner feast in the Great Hall, Hermione was fighting down a sudden urge to run to Hagrids' in the swirling storm and check on Ron. He would never miss a meal! At least not the Ron she knew. There were rumors, and whisperings about a dark mark floating outside by the Forbidden Forest. Headmaster McGonagall herself had ordered a lockdown, forbidding anyone but the professors to step out of the castle. There was a queasy feeling that lay like a great bulk in her stomach, leaving room for little else. Especially not dinner.

"Hermione."

Hermione looked up from squishing her peas into an unappetizing green pulp, and mixing it with her mashed potatoes. Harry looked back at her, frowning.

"What?" The brunette set her fork down evenly, trying not to betray emotion although unusual anxiety tore at her chest.

"Something's wrong." Harry looked at her expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione sighed. Sometimes she forgot that Harry really was as sensitive to her feelings as she was to his, unlike many other boys. She knew he noticed the light changes in her mood every day, but chose to ignore it as respect to her privacy and personal life. But as for the mood dips like these? Only idiots would ignore their friends.

She was suddenly painfully reminded of the ultimate…_not thereness_ of Ron beside her. It was so quiet. Dull, even. There was a lack of chatter, clumsy table manners, petty arguments, immature jokes and secret sweet smiles she had grown to expect. Harry didn't even know that they had an argument because he had had to work on something with Mcgonagall for most of the afternoon.

Now, Hermione realized that their argument about Celia Greene and Tobias Brinely was insignificant and downright stupid. If Ron were to walk through the doors at that moment, she would have tackled him to the ground and given him a kiss he would never forget, regardless who was watching.

"Hermione." Harry massaged his temples with rough and calloused fingers, mussing up his black hair from a bedhead to a duckfluff variety. "I know you're worried about Ron."

Hermione glanced at the empty seat beside Harry and the empty seat beside herself. "And you're worried about Ginny." Nobody even bothered to sit in those spots anymore; it was a given that the Weasley siblings would be sitting there.

"Exactly. And I think, wherever they are, that they're together and doing just fine."

This time Hermione frowned. She wasn't sure whether he said that to reassure her or whether it was just to reassure himself. But who was she, to be taking comfort from Harry? He had so many other things on his mind; he was the boy who lived! The fact that Voldemort had gotten away during the battle in sixth year and created another Horcrux was much more important than small frivolities like her feelings.

Hermione put on a bright smile, feeling obscenely fake. "You're right Harry, I'm sure that they're fine."

_Liar_.

Harry tried a grin. "Yeah, nothing to worry about. They probably got detention or something."

She reached across and squeezed Harry's hand. "From Snape, I bet."

Hermione smiled as she succeeded in making him laugh. A bit hollow, but a laugh nonetheless.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something?" a high, warbling voice reached her ears.

She withdrew her hand quickly from Harry's, whirling around to see Mcgonagall's tight, tense face sporting a cocked eyebrow. Hermione colored, knowing exactly what the ex-professor was thinking. She and Harry were just friends, for goodness sake! Holding hands was a…_friendly_ thing, nothing she had to be ashamed of. Although yes, she was a bit paranoid because the public, a.k.a Rita Skeeter, was always trying to push them together; pouncing on anything they could grab to make it seem like they had a relationship. Her Animagus secret was no use; the Daily Prophet liked the ability to eavesdrop on the juiciest scoops, and would work to the bone to keep Skeeter in their business.

"Proffesor- I mean, Headmaster Mcgonagall." Harry stood up, noticing the apprehensive posture and worried frown immediately. "Is something wrong?"

Mcgonagall shook her head at the both of them and let out a tired sigh. "I'm afraid so Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger. Please, follow me." The elder witch turned and strode away, not waiting to see if the two were following.

Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances, and hurried after her in silence.

Draco ran down the corridor, his heart hammering somewhere in his throat and his lungs blazing for air. Students returning to their dormitories stared as he passed, shocked that the cool, composed Malfoy had somehow transformed into a wild, sweaty mess. He remembered how just an hour ago, these same feet were stomping down the quiet Malfoy mansion for nothing but the sake of annoying some old paintings. Now, they carried word of possible attack.

"Draco Malfoy!" The high, trembling voice of Dobby grew fainter and fainter as his legs carried him closer to the Headmaster's office. "Draco Malfoy! Headmaster Mcgonagall-""

Draco grunted, ignoring the house elf who was about as useful to him now as a mosquito.

He stopped in front of the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office, breathing out a mouthful of curses when the password seemed to slip his mind. McGonagall had always been a very traditional woman; so the key remained as some ridiculous candy to serve as tribute to Dumbledore. Draco sifted through his memories at Honeydukes, trying to recall the names of all the sugary treats.

Stupid gargoyle. It wouldn't be his fault then, would it? It wouldn't be him that killed a someone, like he had done plenty when he let the Deatheaters in last year. It would be this ugly rock carving, destroying a poor bastards' life. No one could blame him.

"Draco Malfoy will not find Headmaster Mcgonagall in her office." a voice panted behind him.

Draco turned around to see Dobby staring up at him, slightly out of breath running after Draco on short, stumpy legs.

"Well? Where is she?" he said, impatient.

"Headmaster is in the Hospital Wing. Winky is telling Dobby of the many that are waiting there."

So that was why Dobby had teleported them in front of the Infirmary, somewhere far away from the office.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier! You stupid elf, someone may very well be dead." Draco spun on his heel, gulping. _Or worse, become Voldemorts new horcrux._

_"_Dobby is not to blame, sir. Master would not listen to Dobby." the tiny creature held his ground, though clearly intimidated with Draco's angry accusations.

He gave the house elf a brisk nod, breaking into another run back the way he came. A million possibilities of who could have been attacked leached into his thoughts. The obvious, and most desired, target would be Harry Potter. But that was too conspicuous, and admittedly a very stupid move, to attack Harry Potter when he had a band of Aurors basically trailing him everywhere he went. Perhaps the target was a member of the so-famed Golden Trio. Perhaps a random student. Or…Or maybe Voldemort had finally found out that Draco was mole in his bunch and decided to obliterate the entire Slytherin house as punishment.

_You're being ridiculous,_ he told himself. Lord Voldy wouldn't obliterate the entire Slytherin house; they being his biggest pool of new recruits. Trained in the finest art of pureblood racism, wealthy family ideals and human superiority, they fit the pre-requisites needed to become a deatheater perfectly. Hell, even Draco would never be able to look eye to eye with mudbloods or creatures and treat them as equals. It would never be in his nature.

He reached the heavy doors, leaning his forehead against the cool wood and letting his breathing and erratic heartbeats return to a somewhat more normal pace.

He pushed the doors open, making as much noise he could muster. A dramatic message deserved a dramatic entrance. Especially for an equally dramatic Draco.

The blonde spotted Madame Pomfrey's wide back, obscuring a patient surrounded by other students. McGonagall stood at the foot of the bed, staring gravely at him.

"Mr. Malfoy. I was not expecting you."

"Headmaster, I need to tell you-"

Draco's stomach dropped to his boots when Madame Pomfrey stepped away. Potter, Granger and the she-Weasley sat around a still figure bearing a shock of red hair. It was Ron. Was he dead? Was he the target? Had he really not made it in time?

Ron was unnaturally still; though Draco suspected he was not dead else all hell would have broken loose. But there was something off about his coloring. It was like he was almost translucent. He could see every blue vein running up his arms and neck, like an intricate webbing that would tear at the lightest touch. And a light sheen of white crystals dusted his hair and exposed skin even though the room was a tad too warm for comfort.

Draco almost snorted right then and there. Here he was, worrying that the name of Slytherin was destroyed, and there wasn't even anybody dead. Ron was one of the many annoying prats he had the pleasure of taunting endlessly the first few years, and honestly, Draco didn't care much that he was here in the Hospital Wing. He had more important things to think about.

"I'm afraid, Draco, that will have to wait." McGonagall broke the silence in which Draco was staring at Ron and everybody else was staring back at him. She turned back to the fallen Weasley, frowning. "There's been an attack."

Draco closed his eyes. McGonagall's words confirmed his fears. He was too late. Again. If it wasn't Ron, then who?

"Casualties?" he asked, calmly, carefully. He noted a flicker of movement from Hermione as he said it.

_Ah, so a Gryffindor, then._

But it was Harry who stood up to address Malfoy. "Did you know about this?" A hint of quiet rage sharpened his words.

"I came back to warn the Professors of a possible…outburst."

"Well you sure took your bloody time, didn't you?" A slightly unsteady feminine voice that dripped with venom replied.

Draco looked at the Granger, a bit taken aback. Miss goody two-shoes, head girl, insufferable know-it-all was _sassing_ him? What exactly had happened to Ron? Maybe he _was_ the target. The Malfoy felt a bit confused. If it was Ron, why wasn't he dead? Where was the blood, the gore, the tiny pinky finger left behind?

"I hardly think it was _my _fault whatever happened to your boyfriend." Draco gave a good long drawl that he knew would infuriate the brunette.

Hermione was standing up now. She stalked towards to him every bit of a Gryffindor lioness, tossing her mane back with an irritated flick.

"Of course it was your fault, _Malfoy_." she spat. "You _knew_ someone would get cursed tonight, and you just dilly-dallied around until it could actually _happen._"

Draco clenched his fists. "I came here as soon as I could, Granger."

"Well, your definition for 'as soon as possible' isn't good enough, is it?"

"Oh, so what is this then? A spelling test?"

"For goodness sake," Hermione's voice turned shrill and loud. "Ron's basically a fucking _snowman_, as good as dead, because _you_ just decided that protecting Gryffindors wasn't on your to-do list today."

"What you mean," he snarled, "Is that you weren't strong enough to protect that sniveling Weasel. Why weren't you with him, then, huh? I'm sure you could have protected the both of you adequately from a Deatheater." Malfoy lowered his voice and leaned in close to her ear, whispering so only she could hear him.

"And so that makes it your fault, mudblood. Not mine."

Hermione flinched, and Draco leaned away, somewhat satisfied with the plain look of hurt adorning her face.

"McGonagall, I need to speak with you later." he said, piling the politeness on rather thickly. He ignored the emerald daggers of Harry's eyes, and the glassy ones of Hermione's. If they had a problem with him, he didn't care and they would have to deal with it. "I'll leave to your…angst."

Draco turned away, feeling slightly sick. It was the second time he had failed in a matter of weeks. Even though it was just Ron, he didn't want to be discharged from the Order of Phoenix. He needed the help they could offer him. The blonde took a step to the door, fully aware that everyone, excluding Ron, was staring at him and his cold-heartedness. He smiled bitterly. That was what being Draco Malfoy was all about, wasn't it? And he was doing a damn well job of _that_ at least.

"Hey, Malfoy." Hermione called.

Draco half-turned, exasperated.

"What-"

_SMACK_

A jarring noise resounded off the sterile white walls of the infirmary.

Draco's cheek burned in an outline of the Granger's hand, his mouth open in a state of shock and humiliation.

And Hermione strode past him, slamming the door behind her.

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**What do you think? Don't worry, there will be happier times ahead ;)**

**Anyways, please review! It makes my day (or I guess, nighttime right now), and I appreciate any feedback.**

**TBellewithLurve: yup, she's an evil evil woman...which is why she's such a fantastic character :) You'll have to find out the rest!**


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